The Journal (Adopted)
by chemical violets
Summary: AU set before Percy's fifth year. The twins find Percy's journal and are shocked at what it contains. They get Bill involved, and confrontations are made. Adopted from missingmile. First two chapters are hers, the rest are mine.
1. Chapter 1

AU set before Percy's fifth year. The twins find Percy's journal and are shocked at what it contains. They get Bill involved, and confrontations are made. Adopted from missingmile. First two chapters are hers, the rest are mine

 **Chapter 1**

Bill always knew that something was wrong with the twins when they were quiet. It wasn't in their natures to be calm or serious, and definitely not to be so quiet for more than a few minutes in a row. It made him suspicious and that was why he went to investigate. If something went wrong while their mother had left him in charge he knew he would never hear the end of it.

Arthur and Molly Weasley had taken Ron, Ginny, and Percy to Diagon Alley earlier in the day to look at owls. It was supposed to be Percy's reward for being chosen as a prefect at Hogwarts for the upcoming school year. The twins had decided that they would rather stay home with Bill, who was visiting. He had the suspicion that they were plotting something but so far no explosions or any other noise had come from the upper floors of the house. And it was making him uneasy after an hour of silence.

He made his way upstairs carefully, avoiding the steps that creaked underfoot. The twins shared a room, and their door was closed. It was still and when he was finally standing in front of their room he could barely making out the sound of pages turning. They were reading? Bill frowned, that didn't seem like them either unless it was a book about potions or spells to use in their pranks. He knocked on their doorframe and waited for a moment before opening the door slowly.

They were reading; Fred and George were sharing a small book between them where they were sitting hunched over on the bottom bunk of their bed. They looked up at him at the same time, startled.

"Is everything all right? You've been awfully quiet." Bill leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, "Plotting something that I'm going to get in trouble for later?"

Almost as one they shook their heads and then look at each other for confirmation. They seemed nervous, and that made him uneasy. The twins never seemed anxious unless it was Christmas or their birthday. They gave each other another look before closing the book and holding it out to him. Bill took it from, stepping further into their room, "What is this?"

"Percy's journal." Fred, or at least that was who Bill thought it was, started, "We think you should read it."

He started to say something and George held up a hand to stop him, "You should read it. We were going to look for something to use later, but we've changed our plan."

"He thinks we hate him!" Fred seemed to be getting back some of his characteristic energy and he gestured sharply to the book Bill was holding, "We think that Mum and Dad should know about some of the things in there, we just didn't know how to tell them about it. Maybe if you read it you could tell them."

Bill's instincts were telling him to trust that whatever written in the journal was important, and that the twins were concerned about Percy, but he still had to ask, "Are you doing this to get Percy in trouble? He didn't write about breaking rules, or insult everyone, did he?"

George shook his head quickly, and then nodded, "He insulted someone a lot but not who you might think." He frowned and looked at Fred for a moment before staring up at Bill again; "There's something wrong with Percy, more than what we always thought was wrong with him."

Fred interrupted again, slapping his hand against the bottom of the top bunk, "He really thinks that we hate him. There are so many things in there..." He trailed off, looking toward the one window in the small room, "Mum and Dad should know."

Bill was still confused, "You want me to read Percy's journal because he is insulting someone and he thinks that you hate him, and there is something wrong with him?" He frowned again, glancing at the book, "All right, I can read some of it but if this is some sort of joke you will be apologizing to him later."

They both nodded, a determined expression crossing their faces. "We don't hate him, even if he is a prat."

"You're worried about him then?" He was having a difficult time with this; the twins being serious and asking for help, Percy's private diary that he was being told to read, and he was the one who was to tell their parents about their concerns. "Let me go read, and don't get into trouble. One problem at a time, please." He sighed and left their room, closing the door behind himself.

Going directly downstairs to the kitchen, he pulled his chair out again, setting the book on the table, and got a fresh cup of tea. Everyone should be returning soon and while he didn't want Percy to know that his journal was being passed around the family, Bill did want to know exactly when they arrived back at the Burrow.

There wasn't very much in the journal that was pleasant, and Bill was starting to wonder how he had missed so much of Percy's feelings. His younger brother certainly did know how to hide his thoughts well, and each entry seemed to illustrate that his emotions were no different. They were as misunderstood as most of Percy's statements recently. Since finding out that he would be a prefect the boy has been insufferable, reminding everyone of his new position repeatedly and constantly polishing the badge he would wear. It was annoying and even Bill was losing patience.

He hadn't recalled that no one other than their mum had congratulated his brother for being chosen, not even when they set out to get the owl had their father said anything about the honor. Bill knew that his father was proud of them all, but evidently Percy didn't know anything of the sort. It was as bad as Fred and George had made it sound; Percy did think that they hated him. He seemed to think that his whole family, with the exception of their mum, hated him. It was teenaged angst that he wouldn't have attributed to any of his siblings.

There were so many short entries with little thoughts, bits of emotional description, and finally Bill just skimmed through the book. It was nearly filled with writing and he had almost reached the end when his parents came through the Floo followed closely by Percy with the caged owl, and Ron and Ginny. They started dusting themselves off before they noticed him sitting there in the kitchen, and he took a moment to study Percy.

His brother moved stiffly, careful of the cage and the bird inside. His posture was perfect, his robes quickly brushed clean though they were patched and worn, and he seemed to be unguarded for only a moment before Bill saw his expression become blank. Everything that was written about in the journal was hidden so completely that Bill would never have guessed any of it from looking at Percy now.

Of course, now that he did know Bill was starting to feel the obligation to do something about Percy, or rather for him. It was his duty as the oldest brother to watch out for all of his siblings and he always taken that responsibility seriously. He felt as though he had failed Percy and he wanted to make it right again, but Bill wasn't sure how to do it yet. He could tell his parents and show them the journal, talk to his other siblings, or he could confront Percy directly and formulate his plan after finding out what Percy's reaction was.

Percy made his exit from the kitchen quickly, taking the owl with him after thanking their parents again and getting a hug from their mum. Ron and Ginny soon followed him up the stairs, arguing about something they had seen in Diagon Alley. Molly and Arthur both seemed to relax slightly, and they greeted Bill enthusiastically before each took up a new task; Molly starting lunch preparations and Arthur sitting at the table with Bill to read the Daily Prophet.

They sat together in comfortable silence for several minutes as Bill continued to read through Percy's journal and his father read the paper. It didn't take Molly very long to finish making lunch though and pretty soon she was calling the twins down to help set the tables outside, and asking Bill to assist her in carrying the food. He excused himself quickly, to hide the diary, and then went out to help. He tried to ignore the book all through lunch, but it seemed that Percy must have noticed something off about his room as he was quiet during the short meal and he kept giving the twins odd looks. Fred and George were returning each strange look, and were uncharacteristically quiet as well. It was unnerving and their parents were starting to pick up on the unhappy moods of their children.

He cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention before his mum could ask a piercing question about what had happened earlier in the day. "Percy, could I talk to you after lunch, in your room?" He smiled so everyone would relax, "I thought that I could tell you a little about being a prefect, what's expected of you and that sort of thing."

Percy nodded slowly, looking a little skeptical, "Certainly, I would appreciate any advice you could give me. I'd like to do my very best for the school." That seemed to be what everyone expected of them, and slowly the family finished the meal, in silence once again.

Bill helped get the dishes back into the kitchen and grabbed the diary again before heading up to Percy's room. His younger brother was already there, the door ajar, and Bill went in without knocking. He didn't bother to hide the journal and Percy's eyes went to it immediately. The reaction was swift, Percy's skin paling as he tried to stammer out a question. Bill could guess what it was.

"The twins gave it to me; and no they aren't planning on using it for anything." He took a deep breath and continued, "They were worried about you after they read some of it. That's why they gave it to me. And now I'm worried about you also, Percy. Is all of this true?" Bill didn't want to let go of the book; if he was going to talk to their parents about it things would be easier if he could show them what Percy had written. He had the feeling that if he gave the journal back to Percy it would be hidden, or maybe even destroyed. "Do you really feel this way?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Percy had not been happy with the way his summer holiday was going so far. He had been chosen to become one of Gryffindor's new Prefects and that was a good thing, but everything else seemed horrible when he had time to think about life. The twins were pulling pranks on him almost daily, mocking him at meals, and generally invading his peace and privacy. Bill hadn't said more than three words to him since arriving at the Burrow more than a week before. And Ron and Ginny were trying to spend as much time together as possible before Ron started his first year at Hogwarts in September so he didn't see very much of either of them.

The only person who seemed to have time for him was his mum, but she was often busy with the younger children. She had made a big fuss about his Hogwarts letter and badge when they arrived, and his father had actually smiled and promised a reward, but little had been said after that. Percy didn't want everyone to constantly fuss over him, but it would have been nice if someone other than his mum had been happy for him.

This day didn't seem to be any different, except for the trip to Diagon Alley to pick out an owl. He was surprised when his father had told him about the reward and he had thought for a long time about what sort of thing would be most useful at school. Finally settling on an owl wasn't so difficult as the animal would be very useful for years. He had never been terribly fond of Scabbers, but he was hesitant about accepting such a large gift from his parents when Ron was starting school this year; they would need all available funds for the four children getting school supplies and Percy felt a little guilty about getting the owl. He had brought that up with his mum, telling her that they should get a new pet for Ron, or a new wand instead of having the boy use Charlie's old one. The unicorn hair was almost poking through the tip and Ron would need a new wand soon if that was any indication. Molly Weasley wouldn't accept his arguments, she was determined that he was going to get something to mark his accomplishment and it would serve as an example for his younger siblings as well.

Percy hated being an example for his younger siblings. He never felt that anything he did was especially worthy of notice, and he knew that they resented the comparisons as well. He followed the rules, tried to fit into what his parents seemed to expect, and there really didn't seem to be anything special about that. He tried to make them proud and most of the time they didn't even notice. Didn't his father know that the main reason Percy wanted to work for the Ministry was that he wanted Arthur Weasley to notice him, and not his brothers, for a change?

He suffered through the trying shopping trip, thanked his parents properly and as soon as he could he disappeared into his own room with the owl. When he was alone he could finally relax, take a deep breath and cast aside the nicer robes for something comfortable.

Something didn't feel quite right in his room though, something seemed off. Percy thought for several long moments, trying to figure out what was wrong or if it were just imagination. He looked around the room, noting the position of everything and then stopping at the bookcase. There were two books out of order on the second shelf. His copy of Hogwarts: A History was in the wrong spot, and there was an empty place beside it. Exactly where his personal journal was usually kept. He could feel himself pale and without a second thought he knew who had the book; the twins would have the audacity to come into his room to take something, he knew they would. But what would they do with the information?

Percy sighed, rubbing his forehead briefly, and tried to think of something he could do to get the journal back with the least amount of humiliation. There was a lit of time for that though before he was called downstairs for lunch.

When the twins appeared he knew that he was right in his assumptions; they were giving him odd looks but were not teasing yet. He frowned at them as his parents chattered with his other siblings, and only Bill was able to break Percy's concentration. He found himself agreeing to talk to his older brother without even realizing what he was doing, and he didn't even know what Bill wanted to talk to him about. He shook his head, trying to concentrate and again failing to do more than stare at Fred and George.

He went up to his room again as soon as everyone was finished eating, and waited for Bill. The sudden urge to bolt overcame him; he didn't want to talk to Bill about being a prefect or anything else. His brother had barely had time for him when they were both living at home, and nothing had seemed to change while Bill had been home for his visit. And now he suddenly wanted to chat. It gave Percy another feeling of something being wrong, and it only intensified when Bill came into the bedroom carrying a book that Percy immediately recognized.

"What do you mean, do I really feel that way? I wouldn't have written it unless it were true." Percy willed himself to relax, and failed. "I want my journal back. They had no right to come in here and take it; you had no right to read it."

Bill sighed and gave him a look which only emphasized how different they were; Bill seemed to think that he was humoring a child. "It isn't that simple. If you really think that we hate you, or that you aren't wanted we have to talk about that. Unless you want me to take this to mum and dad right now?"

Percy's jaw clenched. "That isn't fair, it's my journal and it's personal. I can write whatever I want and this shouldn't even be an issue. I want my journal back right now and I don't want to talk about anything written inside." His voice rose slightly, and a hint of desperation entered it. Bill and the twins reading the book was one thing; they probably wouldn't take it as seriously or believe everything. Having his mother or father read his most personal thoughts and feelings was entirely different; if they confirmed any of his fears, confronted him about his anger, or just looked at him and tried to convince him that he was wrong, he wouldn't be able to handle it any longer.

"We have to talk about this. Percy, I don't understand any of this," Bill gestured with the book, "But if you really believe this I want to know why."

He snorted, "I believe it because it's the truth. I've known for years how the twins have felt about me and now Ron and Ginny seem to feel exactly the same." Percy's voice dropped, "I just don't know why you would deny it now. You were the one who stopped writing to me last year, wasn't that supposed to be a clue?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I just don't know why you would deny it now, you were the one who stopped writing to me last year, wasn't that supposed to be a clue?" Bill recoiled as though slapped, blinking at his younger brother. He couldn't believe he had missed _this_ much of how Percy felt. He _seriously_ believed that Bill had been trying to get some vindictive message across when he stopped writing—which Bill hadn't even realized he had done! One day the letters had just… stopped.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "There was no hint. I never even realized that I stopped writing!" Percy crossed his arms, running a hand through his shock of wine red hair.

"Of course you didn't. People don't notice me, okay? So of course I feel that way. It's not an issue so can I please have my journal back and stop talking about this?"

"We can stop talking about it. I've heard enough. But I'm not giving it back. I'm showing Mum and Dad." Percy only chased him to the doorframe before giving up. Bill knew his thought process. If he tried too hard to stop Bill from publicizing his thoughts, it'd be obvious they were real. He heard Percy mutter some words of a very colorful language before he was out of earshot, yet another thing he would've never attributed to Percy.

The twins were sitting in the living room when he entered, leaning over a parchment which Bill assumed to be the plan for a prank. They looked up at him expectantly, brown eyes flittering between the book and Bill's own eyes, silently asking what his plans were for it, and if Percy had been serious in the journal.

"He meant it all," Bill replied. "I'm showing Mum and Dad now. Where are they?"

"Kitchen."

Molly was knitting at the table, beside Arthur who read the Prophet through the frames of the glasses perched on his pale nose. His mother smiled upon his arrival, offering him a cup of tea, which he happily accepted. He fiddled with the book as she bustled about, tracing the lines in the old wooden table with the tip of his index finger. The old surface had permanent stains, scratches and water rings marring it. It was strong and sturdy, though, despite its flaws. It was exactly how the Weasley's were, in Bill's mind, except now he knew Percy may be the exception.

Bill stirred two sugar cubes into the tea his Mum placed in front of him, smiling at her in gratitude.

"How can we help you son?" Arthur asked, folding his Prophet and setting it on the table. For a moment, Bill wondered if he really should tell them. Maybe he could simply enlist Charlie's aid and the eldest brothers could work it out with their younger one. His issues couldn't be _that_ deep. Could they really? He nearly backed out on the plan to talk to them but then he looked behind his dad's head and saw Percy standing in the doorway. Before he realized Bill had noticed him, he was unguarded, his eyes filled with a wild sadness and worried anticipation as he bit his lip in nerves and fear. When he and Bill made eye contact, he emptied his face once again, faltering for a moment in his step as he turned to walk away. He was scared, Bill realized. It disgusted him to realize he had only noticed Percy's feelings because he thought no one was watching. Percy really thought he couldn't trust them. Bill didn't realize how the hell he hadn't noticed anything odd about a 14-year-old being so stiff. His brother wouldn't even turn 15 for a few more days and yet he was worse off in the emotional angst than any of them. It had started after the war, he suddenly recognized. A few years after the war ended when all the Death Eaters were gone, Percy snapped into this act. It was a few months before he started Hogwarts. Now nearly five years.

Ignorance, Bill noted, truly was bliss. Unfortunately ignorance hadn't graced both parties of this issue.

"It's about Percy," he finally said, setting the journal on the table and sliding it slightly towards his parents. Both of his parents perked up, concern streaking their faces as their activities were shoved away in total disinterest. _See, Percy? They care about you_ , Bill thought to himself. "The twins took Percy's journal," he began, quickly finishing his statement to defend their actions. "But I'm glad they did. Originally, they had planned to do _whatever_ with the information, but then they went to me because after reading what Percy wrote, they were concerned for him. I read it, now I am too."

Molly and Arthur shared a worried glance. The patriarch cleared his throat before speaking. "What exactly concerned you?"

"All of it! It's all bloody worrying!"

"How do you know it wasn't a joke?" Molly asked, clearly trying to calm her own fears. "What did he even write about?"

Bill sighed, downing the rest of the tea in a long gulp as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear that had frayed from his ponytail. He noted to himself for the first time that Percy's hair really was nothing like the rest of them. He was the only with a mass of completely untamable waves and curls instead of straight hair that with enough brushing could be coaxed into a calm. It also seemed his hair was every shade of red and auburn besides the bright flame that was the rest of the family. It was mostly a dark winey color, but there were streaks and curls of ginger, mahogany, merlot, currant and even a dark blood, but still only a light peppering of that orangey color. He realized from the journal that Percy was hyperaware of that. _As if I don't fit in enough personality wise, the world decided to get a little laugh out of making me stand out physically too. Glad to know both nature and nurture are against me_ , had been Percy's words.

"Look, Mum, there wasn't very much in there that was pleasant. He seems to think every besides you hates him. He insults himself about a million times and also talks about things like having no friends in school and thinking nobody cares about him, even himself."

"Nobody?!" Molly demanded.

"He said, and I quote, 'I don't think Fred and George would particularly care if they knew how much their constant tortures hurt me. I don't think anyone would. I don't blame them. I wouldn't either, and it's hard to care for someone who cares for nothing, including himself.'" Molly brought a hand to her mouth in shock as Arthur leaned back heavily in his chair. Bill sighed, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Look, we haven't noticed it before but now we do. There's something _seriously_ wrong with Percy. The twins told me that from the get-go after reading this. Can you try and read it and decide what to do to help him?"

His parents nodded, sliding the book closer to them. Bill pushed himself away from the table, taking his teacup to the kitchen and dropping it in the sink. He ran a tired hand through his hair.

Jeez, if he knew being the oldest brother was this hard, he would've let Charlie be born first.

 **A/N I hope my adopted finishing of this story will fit what you want it to. Next chapter is Percy's POV and I'll be working on it now too.**

 **Update will hopefully be within the week.**

 **-Chemical Violets**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

To say Percy was upset would be an understatement. His journal, the only place he could record his thoughts, had unjustly been hijacked from his bedroom, and now all his worst fears were coming true. All his deepest secrets were spilling out, and honestly he didn't get why they didn't just publish the bloody thing in the Prophet!

His worst enigmas were being broadcast. His manic need to make something of himself, his hate for the Ministry, the secret love of Muggle rock music. He had written about his odd mood swings, panic attacks and ever-changing sleeping pattern. He would depict how sometimes he'd go three days unable to fall asleep and sometimes it'd be dinner time before he woke up, and how his thoughts could never settle. Worst of all, he'd written about his knack/passion for drawing. How disappointed would his parents be if they found out their son _didn't_ want a respectable career and instead wanted to fucking draw all day?

Hours had passed and Percy could hear footsteps coming towards his door. He did his best to look unconcerned, picking up a book and opening to a random page as he tried to fix the loose, wild curls falling into his left eye. He did his best to make it seem that he _wasn't_ trying to tear his hair out in frustration minutes ago. There was a strong knock at the door and his dad began speaking. "Percy, can we see you downstairs?"

"Okay," Percy called back, hoping his voice didn't sound as frazzled to his father's ears as it did his. When he opened his door his father was already retreating downstairs and the twins were watching from their doorway.

"What?" he asked with as much malice he could muster (which wasn't very hard).

"We don't hate you, Percy."

"Could've fooled me." Not only did they make his life a living hell, but they blabbed his private thoughts to Bill and their parents and now he'd probably be sent to Saint Mungo's.

Thank God his family wasn't observant enough to figure out his biggest secret. His upper thighs felt as though they were tingling in fear of the hypothetical reveal.

His parents were sitting with Bill in the kitchen. They held matching worried, saddened faces as they waited for their third eldest son. When he entered the room, he immediately wanted to be swallowed by a black hole. The pity they held in their eyes was palpable. It was uncontrolled. Undeniable. Unbearable.

Percy slid into a seat tapping his fingers against the wood in an uneven drumming pattern. His gaze flickered between his brother and parents as they all maintained an awkward, forced eye-contact. Arthur spoke first. His voice was laced with anguish and sorrow.

"Percy, you… you know why we wish to speak with you, right?"

"Yes." Percy nearly considered blurting out an excuse, a hasty amendment that would do no good; it would only hurt his cause more. He told Bill it was all true. It was a dumb move on his part, and he knew it. He could've said he had been toying around with his writing skills, trying to turn his life into something more creative than it was.

"D-do you want to talk about any of it… with us?" Molly asked. The desperation in her voice was harrowing to the point where Percy had to dig his fingernails into his palms just to keep from spilling his guts. Better his blood spill than his carefully kept secrets (more so than they already had). He shook his head. It felt slow to Percy. His head felt weighted, his throat felt like it was closing and his feet felt strangely weightless.

"We… Had a feeling you might not be open to speak with us," Arthur began. "And that's okay, we breached your privacy today." Percy snorted in agreement, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in the chair with his arms crossed. The three parallel to him watched him briefly with careful expressions.

"We discussed it, and we're going to be sending you to a therapist. At least for the remainder of the summer, and maybe even at Hogwarts, if the doctor feels you need it."

Percy elected to keep his face warily blank. They sat in silence for a few moments before Bill spoke.

"Saturday, Perce, I'm gonna take you to get a mental health screening for the therapist's records."

"A _what_?"

"It's a questionnaire to test you for mental illness," Arthur explained. "The doctor was quick to reply and requested you take it."

The silence lasted longer this time before Percy finally stood up, eyebrows raised in a silent plea to be released.

"Percy," Molly said quietly. "We love you, okay?"

"Yea. Whatever."

He stormed upstairs and headed straight for the bathroom. Percy didn't think the family had caught on to him cutting himself. They were notoriously oblivious sometimes and even though he hadn't disguised it well, it was still vaguely hidden in that weird letter he had decided to write.

He pulled a broken tile off the wall and pulled a razor out from behind it. It glittered in his grasp, fogging up as he turned on the water to full heat. He liked how it singed his skin.

When he climbed into the shower (with his black boxers on), he sit down under the hot water, flinching under its headed grasp. His upper thighs were faintly peppered with old scars and fading scabs. There weren't very many. This was the one form of control he had, and it made him feel slightly less weak if he could resist it for a few weeks. He pushed the sharp edge off the blade into his thigh, letting the blood be washed away by the water down the leg off his boxers and into the tub. The hot water burned the open wound with a sharp bite.

Percy leaned back against the wall in relief, squeezing his eyes shut as tears as now semi-warm as the water slipped down his cheeks. Hot water didn't last long in the burrow. They weren't tears of sadness, they were tears of anger, the kind that slipped down your cheeks with a lukewarm kiss, just cold enough to quell some of the boiling blood beneath your face.

He sat there letting his breaths even for ages, the warm water quickly turning ice cold against his skin. After what seemed like an eternity, the bathroom was thrown open and Bill was reaching over him to turn off the water.

"Shit, Percy, you're gonna give yourself pneumonia!"

A brief rant ensued as Percy ran a towel over his dark red hair. He wasn't sure if Bill was still talking—he didn't really even care—when he brushed past him to his bedroom. Based on the shocked look he felt staring him down, he was guessing that the conversation wasn't seen as over in Bill's eyes.

Percy didn't leave his room for dinner, telling his Mom he wasn't hungry and had stuff to work on. He sat drawing at his desk as the slightly subdued voices of his family wafted from downstairs. Ron and Ginny carried the bulk of the conversation, unaware of the possible reasons for Percy's absence.

That night, his head was pounding as he laid in bed. God, when was the last time he'd even slept? Insomnia had plagued him since the Wizarding War ended when he was about six. Back then it rarely ever happened, but as he and his struggles grew, so did the insomnia. It was a long-shot he'd be getting any sleep tonight. His inability to sleep used to frustrate him, more than anything in the world. Now it was just a normal part of his daily routine. Not have to wake up, go through the day, hide out in room as much as possible, lie in bed and not fall asleep. On the rare occasions that sleep graced him, he woke up shocked and almost annoyed with his body for caving—irritated with all the time he lost in slumber. The dead of night was his time. His _only_ time.

Percy sat up in bed, looking towards his window. Somehow, his family had trusted him enough to sleep unguarded. Big mistake. Part of him hesitated, there was the prospect of getting caught, which also meant that the unguarded nights could disappear. Then again, there always had been that fear.

Percy leapt out of bed, pulling on a black t-shirt Oliver got him for his favorite Muggle rock band and old jeans. He tied his shoes quickly, stuffing his sketchbook in a messenger bag then sliding the window open further.

 _Fuck safety,_ he thought, leaping from the half roof outside his window to the ground. Pain shot up his leg as he landed, but he barely hesitated before running across the lawn onto the dirt trail ahead of him. He wasn't sure why he always ran; his clothes were dark enough that he could escape unseen by anyone glancing out the window. There was a Muggle village a little over a mile away. Percy hung out there a lot when unable to sleep.

His normal group was there. They were sat on a back road surrounded by beer bottles, cigarette smoke and weed. Were the nighttime habits of him and his midnight friends corrosive? Absolutely. Percy knew that well. Did he care? Why would he?

"Perce!" Oliver Wood was like him: a semi-depressed pure-blood who hung out with a pair of rebellious Muggles at night, both of which were just as disturbed and unhappy with unpleasant home lives as the two wizards. Their friends supplied them with booze, drugs, support and occasionally therapeutic fist fights. The drugs typically weren't Percy's thing, but tonight he needed to unwind. Big time.

Percy plopped down on the curb, beside Alex, a blonde, freshly-turned 16-year-old Muggle, who handed him a lighter and offered a cigarette. The ginger shook his head and took the joint out of his other hand instead.

"Mate, you look awful, when was the last time you slept?" the wavy-haired brunette Neil asked.

"I dunno. Four days ago?" Percy shrugged as he blew out a cloud of smoke. "Got any more of that Benadryl stuff? That helped. Though in typical 'me' fashion, I woke up 14 hours later and was drowsy for like, two days. I had to fake sick to get out of class."

Neil held out a sheet of individually packed pills and a few unfamiliar ones in a plastic bag. "I've got that and one to wake you back up. It's my new ADHD medicine, to help me focus and what-not. Adderol will make you perky and energetic.

"Good. I'm gonna need it. The twins found my journal and showed my fucking parents. I don't think they realized I cut my thighs sometimes and they certainly don't know I sneak out. I wouldn't be here if they did. Guess who starts therapy the day after tomorrow though?"

Oliver laughed behind his beer. "Tough luck, Perce."

Percy cracked open a beer of his own, pulling off his glasses and holding them in his half-bent fingers. They had been slipping down his nose anyway, slick with sweat.

The drink left a burn in his sore throat, warm and familiar as it slithered down his system. The taste lingered on his tongue and in the back of his throat, flaring up each time he drew in the warm night air through his mouth.

The muggy air tasted sickly sweet to him, mingling with the alcohol and leaving his mouth feeling humid and sticky. His shirt was beginning to stick to his shirt just from sitting there. Percy pulled out his sketchbook. He wasn't concerned about smoke ingraining itself in the book. He likes the way the pages smelled like smoke. It was comforting. Just breathing in the scent with his head down at his desk was calming enough to make him feel a bit happier.

The sun wasn't visible from behind the buildings, but after a few hours of alternating between chain-smoking cigarettes and chugging beer, the sky was beginning to light up with a warm orangey glow. The friends said goodbye and quickly scrambled to run home to their respective places.

Percy's head was throbbing as he ran. He steps were discombobulated and shaky, his breaths ragged with exertion. Somehow, he managed to make it through his window just in time to hear his Dad leaving for work. He had nearly been caught.

He didn't change out of his smoke-scented clothes.

The mix of exhaustion, drugs and alcohol finally did their work.

He was unconscious before he hit the pillow.

 **A/N Sorry that took so long to update. I hope you liked it.**

 **I get that Percy is a bit OOC, but this is AU, and even in the real books, we hardly ever saw Percy. Who's to say that all wasn't ab act?**

 **With Oliver, we only really see him with Quidditch. Besides, depression isn't always obvious. Facades can be extremely powerful.**

 **-Chemical Violets**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Harry Potter**

 **This chapter is semi-filler and character development.**

 **The Journal**

 **Chapter 5**

Looking back, Bill had come to realize that Percy skipped family meals a lot. He didn't think much of it before—none of them did—but now Charlie was visiting from Romania for the first time since leaving and Percy was a worrying topic. He looked towards the staircase for any sign of his little brother, but saw and heard nothing.

His mum pulled away from Charlie, looking towards the stairs herself. "I don't know where Percy is… _Percy!_ "

"I'll get him, Mum," Bill interjected. "Charlie can come too." He lowered his voice then. "I'll fill him in on everything."

"When are Ginny and _I_ going to be filled in?" Ron huffed.

"Never. You're too young."

"George, you're only two years older!"

Bill left them behind, their voices getting smaller as he and Charlie clomped upstairs.

"Fill me in on what, Bill?"

"Let's get Percy first, I'll tell you after."

The eldest Weasley stopped in front of Percy's door, knocking steadily on the wood. He waited a moment, and when no answer replied, he knocked again and called out, "Percy?"

Bill opened the door quickly, it bounced against the wall, making a loud banging noise. Percy, fully clothed to Bill's bemusement, squinted at the sudden light coming from the hallway as he lifted his palm to his forehead. The nearly-fifteen-year-old coughed into his hand, a rough, grating clear of the throat. Bill resisted the urge to cough himself as Charlie coughed slightly, ripping his brother's window open.

"God Percy, what the hell is that smell?" Bill grunted. Bill recognized it—some it at least—and he knew Charlie recognized that smell too. The room was hazy with the scent of cigarettes and some other scent that Bill couldn't place—skunky and herby. Percy's school backpack laid opened on the floor, its contents sprawled across the wood planks like vomit—something no one wants to see but can't ignore.

There were multiple notebooks and a carton of Muggle cigarettes (Marlboro was printed on the box) on the wooden flooring; one notebook was sprawled open onto a page full of neat print. Even though it was feet away, Bill could clearly see the words _Chapter 6_ written at the top. He blinked, processing the fact that Percy wasn't kidding when confided to the journal that he really did like writing. Maybe that was why he read so much.

Bill scooped up the cigarettes off the ground and walked over to the bed, where Percy was rubbing his eyes with the ball of his palms. He held the carton in front of his younger brother, taking note of the red, glazed look to his eyes.

"Dropped something?" Percy blinked at him, hands still poised in front of his face, an inch or two away with his fingers curled lazily. He stood up, grabbing the cigarettes from his older brother and staring him the eye. At fourteen, he was already an inch or two taller than Charlie and roughly the same height as Bill.

When Percy began speaking, Bill noticed two very distinct things. 1.) His voice was raspy, as though he'd smoked way too many of those cigarettes, and 2.) The scent of alcohol was hot and unmistakable as his words left his mouth. His words were breathy and vaguely washed-out, laced with sarcasm and a type of fearlessness he'd never associated with his younger brother.

"Oh, c'mon, Bill. Don't act like you didn't know I smoke." It was true that he did. Despite having only skimmed parts of it, there were other parts that when the words registered, he went back to reread them over and over until he knew them word for word, the smoking being one of them.

 _I know smoking can kill me. But the cigarette made me feel good. Which I know is bad from a health standard, but I didn't cough or sputter or even gasp for air when I was done. I got told I hold my smoke well, breathing out the air normally and letting the concoction of different drugs and carcinogens spill over my lips. The mix of menthol and ash burned my throat, in a way that I could feel without feeling. The next day I went into the Muggle village, bought a pack of menthol and non-menthol smokes (just to see which I preferred. I preferred the menthol) and a book of some old poems, and I chain-smoked while reading and drinking coffee. And I'd never felt more alive. And I'd never appreciated feeling alive more._

 _I_ _know_ _smoking_ _can_ _and probably_ _will_ _kill me. Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to stop. I have problems living my life, and dying is the most resonant part of mortality. I'm killing myself, but sometimes you have to die just to feel alive._

 _The smoke can turn my lungs to ashes, but it makes them feel like gold._

 _I'm up to about ten cigarettes a day now._

Percy dropped the carton on his desk, scooping up the notebooks off the floor and then pausing in front of his elder brothers, who were watching him with curiosity.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't come up here just to hassle me about the hazards of cigarettes, especially _you_ , Charlie."

"Mom wants you downstairs for breakfast…" Bill paused for a moment, inspecting his brother through narrowed blue eyes. "You probably want to shower first, and brush your teeth."

Percy gave a sarcastic, closed-off smile as he shuffled from his room, glasses still laying ignored on the ground. Bill grabbed them, tossing the frames gently onto Percy's bed before turning to Charlie.

"What did he mean, 'especially you'?"

"I kind of gave him his first cigarette."

" _What_?"

"It was during winter break when my friends were over. Look, Bill, I wasn't going to give it to him, but he was so serious about it, not even just asking for a cigarette but asking if he could 'bum a smoke.' It was so unlike Percy I didn't quite process it, and then my roommate gave it to him. He seemed kind of upset, anyway, so we figured maybe it'd help," Charlie supplied.

Bill shook his head, unable to believe his kid brothers' antics. "Y-you know what? It's too late. Can't do anything about it. Just… Don't get the others into it or whatever." Charlie grinned.

"Respect for Percy, though," Charlie chuckled. "Marlboros are pretty strong, and the menthol burns my throat."

"You're _actually_ unbelievable."

 **A/N This chapter is more filler and brief character development. I didn't intend for it to be that way, but this seemed like a good place to leave it for right now. Sorry it's short. I'll try to get an update out soon, but sometimes in order for me to produce good content I need some time to actually do it. I'm not one of those writers that can crank out 10k word+ chapters every few days with extreme descriptions. It takes me along time to gather my thoughts. But in the middle of this author's note I wrote out the final part of the story, so hopefully I'm going to have motivation to write more now that I know where this story is heading exactly. I wasn't sure if it'd be a happy ending or a rip-your-eyes-out-sobbing-then-set-out-to-kill-me sad. There really is no in between with me. You're not allowed to know which it is yet ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N a lot of this chapter is dialogue**

 **Chapter 6**

THE QUESTIONS were weird. They were dumb and annoying and Percy hated everything about this stuffy office, but somewhere in the back of his mind, his voice chanted a mantra of _they're finally going to find out what the fuck is wrong with you, you freak of nature._

Questions included:

 _Over the last week, how have you been "on average" or "usually" regarding the following item:_ _Low mood, sadness, feeling blah or down, depression, just can't be bothered?_

 _Over the last week, how have you been "on average" or "usually" regarding the following item:_ _Feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, letting people down, not being a good person?_

 _Do you have times when your mood 'cycles', that is, do you experience 'ups' as well as depressive episodes?_

How effective did they expect this to be? Percy could easily lie on it. Why shouldn't he? But he knew he wouldn't lie. The more he looked at the questions on the page, the more compelled he felt to tell the truth. Surely his family would know if he was lying based on that journal.

He filled out the paper slowly, marking honestly as he pretended not to feel Bill's gaze moving between the form and the person filling it out. As the last question got marked off, he held the clipboard out to his elder brother to return to the desk, looking away to the wall.

The wallpaper was powder blue, decorated with ugly flowers of a darker shade. The floor was cream white and streaked with dirt, and Percy rubbed his shoes against a smudge to try and wipe it up. He was unaware how much time passed, and just barely aware of Bill's uncomfortable shifting in his chair, but it felt like an eternity before the door to the back slid open and a woman with graying brown hair called out his name.

Percy cast one glance at his brother. Yes, it was partially Bill's fault that he was here in the first place, but maybe he could help him escape. That wasn't exactly likely, however, so the ginger begrudgingly shuffled towards the receptionist, tapping her feet impatiently as she surveyed Percy with hard green eyes.

She wore too much flowery perfume, and that mixed with the sterile smell of ink and the sickly scent of cleaning spells made Percy feel nauseous. Her skirt swished around in a wide circle, occasionally hitting his legs with its muted purple flowers. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she briskly stomped to a door, knocking briefly before swinging it open and promptly abandoning Percy in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar man. _And to think I was just starting to like the Flower Lady_.

The therapist shook his hand with a warm smile and motioned for him to sit. Percy sat with his rigid Prefect's posture, shifting uncomfortably as he peered around for anything to look at but the gray-haired man in front of him.

After a few minutes of stiff questions and terse answers, Percy finally placed his elbow on the arm of the chair, leaning his head into his hand.

"Look, I know what you're going to do here. You're going to sit behind that desk, and you're going to act indifferent to everything I say, except for a few times when you're going to try and act supportive. You're going to write on forms and play God, asking me impossible questions and not answering any of my own unless the response they require can be recited from a textbook."

The therapist raised an eyebrow at his outburst, but it didn't take long for him to launch into the whole reason Percy was here. The journal.

"So you write a journal, huh?" Percy refused to answer, simply watching the man with a raised eyebrow as a silent _what do you think?_ He just wanted a reaction from this weird, emotionless man. Was this therapist even human? How was he supposed to trust a being of hidden emotion and silent judging? That was why Percy didn't trust himself.

"Do you like writing?"

Percy sighed, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand away from his head. "Yea, I guess."

"What do you write?"

"I don't know… Everything, I guess? Short stories, books, plays. You can figure out the rest." Percy wasn't sure why he was deciding to be honest with this man. Something about the very premise of a therapist made him want to curl up and die, and yet he still found himself falling into the trap of the doctor's questions.

"Has anyone ever read anything you've written besides yourself?"

"No."

"And why is that? What's the harm in showing off your skills?"

Percy leaned forward in his seat, a hostile, small smile playing his features as he reviewed his answer in his mind. "Let's put it this way. Would you really want to share the one thing you like doing, when all anyone ever does is tell you they don't particularly care for you or anything you do?"

The therapist returned the grim smile, bitter amusement visible in his eyes. Whether or not he was just humoring Percy, the redhead was unsure. He didn't think he wanted to know.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't."

"Besides, who said I had talent?"

"You seem like the type of person who wouldn't continue something if you didn't think you could do it sufficiently."

"And I'm also the type of person who would show off if they were confident in something they did. Just to get a little positive attention."

"How does that work out for you?"

"I don't know…"

"It doesn't sound like it's gone very well." Percy gulped, his eyes staring unfocused at a pencil on the man's desk.

"If I talk about the things I like—well, that I'm _expected_ to like—or do, I get told I'm pretentious and pompous. If I don't talk, I'm trying not to be part of the family."

It felt like hours passed by. Hours slowly melting away in this office, hands of a clock moving for eternity. When his life at school finally came up, Percy snapped. The floodgates opened and he began describing in vivid detail he normally saved for his writing how much he _despised_ his life at Hogwarts.

"I don't like Hogwarts. Since day one, I haven't liked it. I lost my brothers on the train and had my first panic attack, I almost got sorted into a completely different house than my entire family, and everyone in my year decided almost immediately that anyone would make a better friend than me.

"I had to study so hard so that the teachers liked me as much as my brothers. And they started to love me and put so much pressure on me. And that didn't help the friendless situation. I can still hear their voices in my heads, whenever _anything_ comes into question, just repeating over and over again, 'Percy knows. Percy knows. Percy, why don't you stand up and explain it to the class?' I was _11._ You can't put that kind of pressure on a kid that age. _How_ is _anyone_ supposed to relax and make friends like that?

"I have no friends. My only friend is my roommate and he's only my friend when we're alone. I've let one other person see the real me occasionally, but not enough to hold a steady friendship. In order to live up to the expectations left from my perfect older brothers, I've had to become the image of what everyone wants from Bill and Charlie's younger brother. I'm _not_ Bill. I'm _not_ Charlie.

"I'm not naturally smart like Bill, or wild and exciting like Charlie. I'm not funny like the twins. I'm not as talented as Ron. I'm not as friendly as Ginny. I'm just _me._ I'm weird and unpopular. I'm stiff and constantly worrying about everything. I have no real talent. I have panic attacks constantly and get scared to even leave my room in fear of having one, and yet I still sneak out at night and get into loads of trouble. I spend all of my time studying just so I can live up to what everyone expects me to be. I've created a façade so perfectly cold, my own siblings don't even think I care about them. The only other things I care about besides them is writing and smoking, and both of those things bring me so much comfort, yet they scare me so much. They are beautiful and comforting. They look and feel like everything that's wonderful about life. Like the first real rays of sunshine after winter, and like warm laughter that spreads over a room of people perfectly comfortable in each other's presence. The real soft, gentle laughter. Perfect human noise that dies out naturally. They're everything good I have in my life, but they're both so, _so_ deadly.

"I work towards goals I don't even want instead of the ones I do. I don't want to be a fucking Prefect. I don't want to be anything that has to do with me. I _hate_ myself. I hate the real version of myself, and I hate the made up one. They're both horrible people. One doesn't have any fun, and the other has so much it doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel right to betray the other one like that. And I can't _stop_ that."

"What do you mean by 'it doesn't feel real'?" Percy thought about it for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he began speaking again.

"It's… It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror, and you say your name out loud. And you repeat it to yourself, until you've broken it down so much that it's reverted back to its black and white definition. A name is just a word that's been assigned to you. Fun is just a distraction until responsibility returns. And I know this… But knowing these things… that doesn't feel good."

These things Percy described… They didn't feel good to talk about. They tasted bitter in his mouth and burned the back of his throat like vomit. They were the exact opposite of names and fun. They didn't feel real until they were said out loud. He had said things he didn't want to admit. And he couldn't unsay them. They would forever linger in the air and in the back of his mind. They would be whispers ingrained in the peeling wallpaper, forever haunting this room like the words that had been spoken by others, and when the building crumbled, and the people who spoke them and listened to them all died, they would drift away, and—like everything—they would eventually be forgotten.

"You described how lonely and sad you were, but then made comparisons to things you found happy. Are these things you have, or just things you want?"

"I couldn't tell you. I'm not sure I know myself, though I think it's likely the latter."

"What do you want from your life, Percy? What do you see and read that you want to experience yourself?"

"I want to have more friends, so that if one goes away, there's another to fall back on. I want to have genuine friendships, with people who want to be my friend always. I want to enjoy new food I've never tried. I want to see sights I've never seen. I want to listen to laughter that starts out loud, and fades away as the day draws out, but still remains pure.

"I want to hold hands with a girl, and have my first kiss. I want to have pure, young love, and then later real, passionate love. I want to meet somebody who always makes my heart flutter—scratch that, I _have_ met somebody who does that. I want to know that they feel that way too. I want to have late night conversations with somebody I care about.

"I want to look at sights from a high up point, and not worry about dying from falling. I want to be able to fight off panic attacks, and enjoy things fear free. I want to read books that will enthrall me, and see Muggle films that will make me appreciate the entire world more—wizard and non-wizard. I want to find beautiful music that I can enjoy with the people I care about. I want to find songs that fill my heart with joy and excitement. I want to go to a concert. I want to learn to play instruments. I want to dance and laugh and discuss the weird questions that constantly run through my mind with someone who will only love me more because of them. I want to accept my quirks, and find people who accept them too—to find people with quirks I can accept as well. I want to experience sorrow that leaves me a better person than before, so that next time, when I hit my worst it won't be so bad. As strange as it is, I want to experience heartache, and cry, and feel excited nervousness instead of panicked anxiety.

"I want to feel the want to explore my talents openly. I want to publish a book or play and watch something I created come to life. I want to experience everything about life, good and bad without ever having to feel this hopeless again. I want to be wanted. I want to be so wanted that I understand why I'm wanted, and I want myself too. I want to want to get to know the person I am and will be. I want to be fascinated by both myself and those around me. I want… I want to _not_ have _so many_ wants."

Percy drew in a breath as he finished his speech. He _didn't_ want to have so many wants. But wanting was better than the apathy he had erected around himself. It gave him something to work towards, to pull himself out of this slump… If not today, then tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then another day.

"I'm going to give you a piece of advice." Percy looked up at the man in front of him. He had been so wrapped up in his spinning thoughts, he had almost forgotten the therapist was there.

"I think you should show someone something you've written. Get some constructive criticism, get some confidence. Then maybe you'll have enough confidence to have publish a novel, or put a play into work."

The idea stuck with Percy as he walked back out to the front. It stuck with him as he waved a goodbye to the Flower Lady and as he followed Bill to an ice cream stand in Diagon Alley. It stuck with him as his brother coughed into his hand and awkwardly brought up one of his own wants.

"I was wondering if maybe—just maybe, you don't have to—one day I could maybe read something you've written. Besides your journal that is." Bill gave an awkward laugh. Percy looked up from his minty ice cream and despite all the sorrow and brooding that his admissions in the therapist office had left on his mind, he gave an airy, quiet laugh, and a really soft smile graced his face. The shock on his elder brother's face was evident.

"Yea… I think… I think I'd like if you did that."


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n i'm gonna warn you.**

 **this chapter _is_ pretty short, but it's setting up the next couple of chapters. plus i'm back at school and i'm pretty busy with marching band practices and classes. i hope the writing and the excitement for next chapter are enough for keep you going. **

**cause heres a little hint: shit gets _real_ next chapter. shit gets _dark_ (ps i haven't written this _real dark shit_ yet, but it's all planned)**

 **chapter 7**

BILL BLINKED when Percy smacked two notebooks onto the table in front of him. His brow furrowed as he lifted his head up to his younger brother, stood by him with his arms folded, shifting his eyes and body nervously.

"What's this?"

"It's something I've written. I just finished it the other day. I wrote a little blurb for it on the inside cover just to let you decide if you were actually interested in reading it, and if you are, don't read it in front of me and don't share it like you did my journal, yah?"

The ginger left it at that, turning on his heel and clomping back to his bedroom. Bill glanced down to the notebook then back to Charlie, who looked very confused. Bill had forgotten to mention that Percy apparently liked writing in his explanation of everything going on in the Burrow. He opened it up and read the "little blurb."

He _was_ interested in reading it. Not only because it was the first genuine passion his brother seemed to possess, but because the story looked _good_. Maybe a little dark, but even the description was good. It was well-written and Bill almost wished he wasn't trying to catch up with Charlie about Romania.

Damn, having interesting brothers was exhausting.

LATER AFTER Charlie had told all the stories he had to tell, and his mother had crammed all the biscuits she could possibly cram down his throat—well, down his throat, Bill settled back against his bedframe and began reading the actual book, and it was downright _incredible_.

The characters were raw and real, yet vibrant and alive in their own respects, in contrast to a stark world Percy described. Years of reading had seemed to pay off, though Bill was unsure if it was the reading or truly just raw talent.

The descriptions were vivid and beautiful, knotting words together that would normally get tangled in close proximity to make a picture in his head. '

Bill was so immersed that when he got called down for dinner he was more than halfway through the notebook, with an aching back and arse and a sense of disappointment at leaving the books behind.

Not only was he recognizing his brother's talent, but over the next few days, Percy began opening up a little bit by bit. it was nothing major, but just enough to be noticeable. Now that Percy was becoming slightly less reserved around the family after each therapist's appointment, and Bill began to notice things. Little things he wouldn't have picked up on before. Like how Percy actually _had_ a mouth (almost feminine ones at that). His lips had always been set in a thin, right line and before he wondered if they were even there. He also had a rather childlike laugh, and _dimples_ surprisingly. Looking back, he could vaguely remember the dimples from childhood, but it had been so long he had completely forgotten.

Speaking of forgotten, Percy had seemed to be doing well. To the point where Bill—even with his younger brother's nearly daily therapy visits—had almost forgotten the issue until an owl with Percy's official medical diagnosis came along.

PERSISTENT DEPRESSIVE Disorder, Panic Disorder, Insomnia and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. They were staring him in the face.

Four different states of disarray had been in his brother's mind possibly for years, and he only now knew. His mother was crying in the bathroom while his father went out to the shed to gather his thoughts. Percy sat with his arms crossed over his chest, not daring to show emotion while his elder brothers read the attached descriptions of each one.

 ** _Persistent depressive disorder_** _is a chronic (ongoing) type of depression in which a person's moods are regularly low. But, symptoms are not as severe as with major depression. **Persistent depressive disorder** used to be called dysthymia…_ and so on.

 ** _Anxiety disorder_** _is a mental health disorder characterized by feelings of worry, anxiety, or fear that are strong enough to interfere with one's daily activities. Examples of anxiety disorders include panic attacks, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Symptoms include stress that's out of proportion to the impact of the event, inability to set aside a worry, and restlessness…_ and so on.

 ** _Insomnia_** _is a **sleep** **disorder** where people have trouble sleeping. They may have difficulty falling asleep, or staying asleep as long as desired. **Insomnia** is typically followed by daytime sleepiness, low energy, irritability, and a depressed mood… _ and so on.

 ** _Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)_** _obsessions_ and so on.

Bill wasn't sure how to react. How do you react to someone having a mental disorder? You can't just apologize, what good does that do? He ran a pale, thin finger over the ink on the parchment, going over it over and over again.

Very muggle-esque pamphlets had been sent along with it, offering extra forms of rehabilitation besides sit-down therapy. There was few variation in the options—group sessions and art therapy, etc.—but each one went back to one thing: medication. Pills. Bill wasn't sure if he wanted his brother on medication. Therapy and diagnosis were one thing, but pills would somehow make it all feel more real.

Bill glanced to his two younger brothers. Charlie rapidly blinking down at the pamphlets, as though he could blink them out of his eyes like dirt. Percy was still leaned back in the chair, arms crossed against his chest, only now his head was leaning on the chair, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Percy…" Bill trailed still unsure of what to say. What was there to say? He guessed Percy agreed, because his younger brother shot out of his chair then and towards the back door.

"Kindly fuck off. Will you, Bill?"

He watched as his brother walked off across the yard, lighting up a cigarette as he did. Bill had half a mind to follow him—to convince him to put out the smoke and deal with his issues healthily, but decided against it.

Percy was doing better before the diagnosis. Surely he'd get used to it. He had to. His progress couldn't just curve because there was now an official name to it. Right?

 _He'll be fine. He'll be fine._

And Bill managed to convince himself that he was right.

Until a couple days later when the Weasleys woke up to find Percy gone.

 **a/n cliffhanger.**

 **i hope this chapter is enough to suffice until i finish writing the super dark shit coming up. it's actually gonna be really intense probably, no joke and no exaggeration.**

 **random thought of the day: so i really wanna dye my hair black or at least dark brown (i'm blonde) and my mom said probably but it's been months and we haven't done it and i feel awkward bringing it up. i also kinda wanna get bangs again but i'm scared af.**

 **anyways, i hope you enjoyed it. sorry it was short, it was mainly setup for later chapters**

 **-faith, _chemical violets_**


	8. Chapter 8

**unedited**

 **chapter 8**

Percy decided that perhaps a night out with his friends would do him good—it was his fifteenth birthday tomorrow, after all. He wouldn't be able to see any of them tomorrow—besides Oliver—because how was he supposed to explain to his family that these were his muggle friends he met while sneaking out to drink and smoke?

He climbed out his window as he always did, smiling to himself slightly before the frown slipped. How would he admit his genuine problem? Their friendship was based off of shaky home remedies of adolescence for hypothetical problems and disorders that were often confused. Neil often spoke of his fear he had a form of OCD because of the uncontrollable impulse to pull out individual strands of hair, but he wasn't officially diagnosed, and Percy couldn't help but worry if he sauntered in waving around the names of disorders, it would discredit the real potential of his friends having a problem. Neil and his OCD and potential depression. Alex and his insomnia and anxiety. Oliver and his depression. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell any of them besides Oliver, but hypothetical issues had always been taken seriously, even if done in a semi-destructive manor. He could at least hope Neil and Alex would take it seriously.

His hope was placed on the wrong subject.

He was right to assume at least one of his friends would be there when he was. Alex was waiting on the curb, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them tightly. Percy's heart fell. Alex was like the leader of their group. He was calm in the face of disorder and emotional and physical abuse. He was the one who supplied almost all the drugs, all the booze and all the conversation. His current state was more like a combination of how Neil and Percy himself would act—with a mix of a heavy, somber expression (Neil) and quiet brooding until words were forced out (him).

"Alex?"

His friend looked up, forcing a small smile, his blonde hair quivering in the feeble summer breeze. He stood up shakily and when he began speaking his voice was rough and thick as though he'd been crying.

"Hey, Perce. Happy birthday."

"Thanks… Is everything okay? Where are Neil and Oliver?" Alex sighs, wiping his palms on his shorts.

"Neil is in the hospital, Percy. He overdosed. I think it was an accident, but I don't know. I really don't know." He choked off then, thick, hot tears streaming down his face. Alex dropped to the curb, rubbing the balls of his hands into his eyes and twisting them around to the point where it hurt Percy just to watch.

The ginger blinked at his friend, taking in what he had been subjected to. He dropped down beside him, biting his lip forcefully and shaking with suppressed emotion.

Percy didn't pay much attention as he followed Alex to a bus stop, or as he boarded the bus and stood there while the blonde payed both their fees. He was too busy thinking about how Neil—Neil who had probably been the nicest out of all of them and the one who was more concerned about them than himself—had managed to overdose. Was it on purpose? And if it was, why had he not known?

He drummed his fingerings mindlessly on the seat in front of him, eyes sightlessly blinking at the lights humming in the street, forming artificial amber streaks and faint white dots across the world as the bus quickly carried him away. Far, far away, but nowhere better.

Alex tugged his sleeve as the bus stopped in front of a looming building, bright lights glowing behind a red and white sign, lighting it up and bathing everything in its horribly fake glow. He could only numbly blink at the way the doors slid open on their own, the thought of how his dad would be fascinated just a faint whisper streaming through his head. He ran a hand through his hair as Alex led him to a room on a floor towering high above the ground, where Oliver was waiting in a chair by Neil's bedside.

Percy ran one of his thumbs over the back of a freckled hand rested in his lap. Oliver eventually leaned into him, dark hair tickling his neck and breath emitting slow, warm zephyrs into his skin. It played through his mind like a story. It was as though he thought vivid descriptions of the way the light washed out pale skin and made freckles stand out sharp, and of the way the monotonous beeping of hospital machines he didn't know the function of would make it less real for once, because he could be whisked away by the story, and he could pretend it wasn't his own. It was as though he could edit and polish errors away, although deep down he knew if he were to do that all four of them would disappear, because they ruined their own lives didn't they? Some in a more harsh degree than others.

Neil's mother returned from her conversation with the doctor briefly after they settled in, shaking hands with Percy and Oliver and making a comment about how she had no idea Neil had so many friends. It was then he snapped out of his fantasy world, and the flow of mental ink stopped and the process of polishing and perfecting ended.

He didn't quite realize it was him speaking, but suddenly he was aware of someone yelling how of _course_ she didn't know that because when was she _ever_ there for him? When were _any_ of them there? They were all _so_ wrapped up in their own stupid, self-centered lives that none of them were there. Neil was the only one who paid attention, and now he couldn't.

Oliver pulled him out of the room as the yelling broke into sobbing, and held him against his chest tightly, letting his own tears drip into Percy's hair, though it always seeped into the thick red strands before he felt them on his skin. They stayed like that until suddenly the beeping went rampant and doctors and nurses came running and the beeping suddenly dipped to slow throb before stopping altogether. And then the tears began as Neil's mother cried and apologized to her son as doctors began spouting candy-coated apologies and condolences before promptly dispersing without a second thought.

Hospitals, Percy decided, were a disgusting, contaminated place.

Alex and Oliver walked downstairs with him, aimlessly window shopping in the gift shop as they tried to wrap their heads around the loss of Neil—he truly had been the best of all of them. Percy was drawn to the hand sanitizer—anything to help himself be rid of this horrible germ and disease. Oliver produced some Muggle cash and bought it for him, holding elbow as he led Percy to the counter to buy the small disinfectant.

They sat in the lobby for what felt like hours, Percy only vaguely aware of the matching concern their faces held as he practically bathed in the travel sized container of hand sanitizer. He rubbed it all the way up past his elbows, because Oliver had touched his elbow, and Oliver hadn't cleaned himself off from the room at all. He relished in the way it stung the hairline cuts decorating the skin around his nails and knuckles, a result of chronic hand washing and constant decontamination. Percy always participated in his friends activities, and occasionally in his own indulgent "painting" but they always left him feeling dirty and frightened—more so than he'd ever let on, and he often times found himself washing his hands every time he could do so without peaking interests.

"I think we need to stop." It was Alex that spoke.

"Stop what?" Oliver was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his eyes twisted shut as he spoke.

"Whatever this thing we're doing is. It just killed our friend, and is driving all of us insane. No more drugs, alcohol, self-harm. It all ends here. It has to. Neil never wanted his life or our lives to turn out this way. He would've encouraged us to stop." Alex's voice was somber and devoid of all the passion Percy admired him for.

Oliver nodded. "Yea. I agree."

"Will we still see each other?" Percy gulped as he took a break from his obsessive cleaning to ask the question on his mind. He had already lost one friend today, he didn't want to lose his others too.

Alex gave a tight, strained smile as he stood up and headed towards the door. "Of course, man. Don't be an idiot." He ruffled Percy's hair like an older brother and then slipped out the door. Percy watched him as he shuffled through the ambient light until he disappeared. Just like Neil.

"C'mon Perce, let's go." Oliver clapped his shoulder and wiped his nose, sniffling a little. The stars were so smothered here. Percy was unsure whether that was due to general city bustle, or if the hospital truly sucked the life and passion out of everyone. At the Burrow, he'd be able to watch the stars from his window. He wanted to go home, so _so_ bad.

Oliver must've sensed the way he began shaking as they plodded along, and he reached out for Percy's hand with his own, interlocking the pale, thin fingers with his tan, stocky ones.

The rain began drizzling as they waited for the bus, and continued to douse the world with it's gentle touch even as the sun began to slip above the horizon, reflecting into the clouds and turning them brilliant shades of crimson, orange and yellow. The rain reflected the color like little rainbows, and as they fell to the ground. The colors split and drained away. A beautiful, broken color show.

The bus stopped near Oliver's floo point before it neared the Muggle town by the Burrow, and Percy leaned his head against the glass, watching his best friend walk through the still drip, drip, _dripping_ rain, missing the warmth of the hand in his own. As the bus began moving again, his head rattled against the glass, echoing loud in his own ears.

The sun was already in the sky by the time he made it home, and he was met with a lot of shouts. Some relieved, others angry.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, where _have_ you been?!" his mother yelled.

"Out."

"Doing _what_ exactly?"

"You know, birthday things… With friends…" He ignored her ranting, and his throbbing headache, and Bill's concerned look as he brushed past the breakfast table and upstairs, the words fading to a dull hum in his ears.

He found himself on the floor with a blade to his wrist, and with blood dripping out of a shallow cut, falling onto the floor in small, slow beads. Like the kaleidoscope raindrops but with only one color. And he honestly wasn't sure how he got there.

 **a/n i hope you enjoyed this chapter**

 **merry christmas**

 **and if you don't celebrate christmas**

 **merry sunday**


	9. Chapter 9

**_i do not own harry potter or any of the characters involved, besides the two (now one) muggle characters in the story. the rest belong to j.k. rowling._**

 ** _although I do tend to read through my chapters a few days after posting them and fix any glaring errors, this chapter—among all others—remains mostly:_**

 **unedited**

 **chapter 9**

Bill found his brother's behavior to be increasingly erratic throughout the day. Molly, given the current mental state of her son and the fact it was his birthday, decided to let him go with some brief scolding, but kept a watchful eye on him and advised everyone older than Percy to do the same.

Bill felt like Percy's mother, always positioning himself to see even a sliver of the now-fifteen year old. He tried not to make it too obvious, unlike his parents—whose clear supervision was making Percy visibly uncomfortable. He did, trail slightly behind and listen every time his brother excused himself from the room, and tallied up a total of 27 times Percy washed his hands between the time of his return and the time they left to get him a gift.

Percy, being an infamously difficult person to shop for, was the only Weasley in the family who straight-up chose his gift. The other kids dropped subtle and not-so-subtle hints to their parents what they wanted for their birthdays and other holidays, but Percy constantly remained so silent and impartial throughout his life that eventually their parents gave up even trying, and sometime between midday and evening, they would herd their clan into the fireplace and allow Percy to go to any store he wanted, dragging bored, whining siblings behind him that could only be quelled by the promise of ice cream or some other treat once they got Percy a gift, which often irritated Percy to the point where he'd skim a couple books' backs, pick any two and then get the _hell_ out of there. Bill didn't blame him.

Bill hoped to God that Percy would pick his typical bookstore, so that he could pick up a new, nice journal for Percy's writing and a couple of great quills. He was in luck, as Percy stood uncertainly in the crowd of Diagon Alley, eyes shifting about nervously as the mob seemingly swallowed him, then eventually began to shuffle through the mass into the direction of his frequented bookstore. Percy had never been unsure of his ability to navigate the throng of wizards and witches, being 5'11, he was taller than a little more than half of the people and could easily see over a lot of the crowd. Yet as the family, began their expedition through the large gaggle of people, Percy migrated closer and closer to their dad, until he was lighting grasping his elbow in a childish plea to stay near him. It looked a little strange, actually, a teenage boy clinging onto a man he was the exact same height as, like a child who was much younger and smaller than he was. Arthur tossed his son a worried look, moving his free arm to lay a comforting hand on the 15-year-old's arm, which was stowed away under the fabric of a loose-fitting green flannel shirt.

When they arrived at the bookstore, Percy released his father, looking slightly embarrassed with the way he gripped his arm. He disappeared behind a shelf, and Bill decided he trusted the younger Weasley enough to go wander off into the store in search of something nice for Percy's writing.

He had finished the book the night before, reading far into the night, enthralled by the way his brother made characters come so vividly to life. It was beautiful, really. He'd never truly appreciated the effort and talent needed to create his favorite novels until it was his own brother who did it. He never thought about the writer sitting for hours working, and how hours led into days and days led into weeks, and weeks into months, and sometimes months even led into years. Bill had a new appreciation for the writing community, and he couldn't wait to discuss the story with his brother. He wanted to know everything that went into writing a book so vibrant yet sad, deep and thought-provoking all at once. It had inspired him in a way not many books had done before. He knew he was a bit bias due to the fact the author shared the same genetics he did, but he had a feeling many would agree. If an author writes to inspire, Percy was already achieving his goal.

Bill had shamefully found Percy's journal to be an interesting read, with the vivid, emotional details it provided. The book was a million times better. It was set in the muggle world, and Bill was unsure of how or why Percy seemed to know about muggles than their father, an avid-muggle lover, but he was almost glad he did. It gave him a peek into two worlds previously unknown to him—muggle life and his little brother's mind.

The notebooks Percy wrote in were all lined, unlike the parchment the majority of the wizarding community used, and Bill was thrilled to find a thick, black notebook with thin, pale lines running across the pages. He made his way over to the quills and hovered by them before changing his mind. Percy had written about despising getting quills for his birthday, and Bill was inclined to agree with his opinion—quills were a necessity, not a gift. He instead plodded along through the shelves until he found the vials of ink. Ink, too, was a necessity, but none of the Weasley kids ever got to use a lavish, expensive ink. They used the cheapest one that would work, and Bill had a feeling that wouldn't work out too well when trying to write a whole novel. He scanned the shelves, running through all the classy inks he'd seen his coworkers use. He tried to remember which ones he'd heard the most recommendations for, finally settling on one labeled pure ebony instead of black. He had a feeling Percy would appreciate the almost unnecessary label, and deep down he hoped he and Percy could laugh about it in a way they never had—as brothers.

Although Percy always knew what his gifts were, Bill still avoided him as he made his way to the front counter to purchase the gifts. He could at least keep them hidden in the bag provided with his stuff. He'd leaving Percy wondering what the gift was, but not whether or not he was going to get one.

He grinned to himself as he brushed past his bored younger siblings and chatting parents to go check on Percy. Bill glanced at his watch, noting they had already been here longer than they normally would've been. He looked through Percy's typical aisles, and with a mixture of concern and confusion, began to wander up and down the shelves until he finally peeked down the mental health section and found Percy sat on the floor surrounded by books on OCD.

He seemed to be deeply engrossed in the book he currently was scanning, which was balancing precariously on his thighs. His eyes were rapidly moving along the words, eyes wide and blinking hurriedly. It was peculiar to Bill that Percy would be reading up on his disorders—he had been so reluctant to accept his diagnosis previously. And why only OCD? There wasn't a book for his other afflictions in sight.

"Percy?"

His head snapped up so swiftly, Bill could've sworn he'd just been witness to how his brother contracted whiplash. His brother stammered out words he couldn't understand—but they sounded suspiciously like apologies, and as Percy scrambled to gather up the pile of books and deposit them haphazardly on the shelves, he couldn't help but notice that behind his glasses, Percy's eyes looked mysteriously misty.

There was a rush of cold air as Percy briskly brushed past Bill and began moving towards the front of the store. It seemed like the air rattled him more than human movement should've, but he didn't have time to ponder it. It wouldn't go away now. He had taken a physical brush of light air peppering his skin and turned it into an emotional turbine of swirling ice and snow. He had internalized the chill and now he had a brother to check on.

Bill rushed to the front of the store after his brother, moving so briskly that his shoes somehow slapped against the carpeted floor sharply enough to create an echoing noise throughout the silent store.

"Find anything, sweetie?" His mother's sweet voice was warm and calming as always, brushing over Bill's ears in a very comforting manner. He really did love his mum.

"You don't need to get me a gift."

"But sweetie, it's your birthday, of course we do."

"Okay, well, I don't want it. I don't want anything."

Bill watched as his brother pushed the door open, the bell tinkling in an inappropriately cheery manor as he watched Percy comb swiftly through the crowd of wizards into the store across the street, the owner of the nearest floo point.

His mother began to round up the rest of the kids, blinking her eyes quickly to dispel the moisture that was pooling rapidly in her warm brown irises.

"Mom, why don't you take them to go get ice cream or something, like you promised? I'll go talk to Percy. I'm sure he just flooed home." Molly looked ready to protest, but she quieted, her features unfolding into a look of defeat as she nodded in agreement, leading the kid's and Charlie out of the store.

Bill glanced back at his father, still standing in the storefront, shifting unsteadily from foot to foot. The dark chocolate eyes met his own, and his father gave a tight-lipped smile.

"I think I'll go look throughout the store for something for Percy, regardless of what he says. Unfortunately I don't know quite what he likes, but perhaps I'll find something worth his time." Bill gave a short nod of approval, but then smiled fondly as his father as the older man placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "I know this is new for all of us—this mental illness thing—but we'll figure it out. For Percy's sake."

He then clapped his son's shoulders and began to retreat into the bookshelves. "Of course we will. We're Weasleys. We always figure it out."

It sounded an awful lot like Arthur was reassuring himself.

* * *

Bill was right. He found Percy perched on the back steps of the house, gazing out at the trees with the same frightened, weepy expression on his face. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to comb through the sinew of Percy's mind and extract many responsive words, so he simply handed Percy the bag with his gift in it and began speaking.

"I know you said you didn't want anything, but it seemed like an appropriate gift."

Percy removed the items from the bag, running a pale finger along the cover of the book, slowly tracing patterns on the outside. He gave a short, airy laugh through his nose when Bill pointed out the ostentatious ink name. Bill was rather disappointed, he had hoped for to have a real bonding moment with his brother, but he supposed he brought it up at the wrong time for such a thing to occur.

"Look, Percy, I'm not going to try and claim I understand what you feel. I'm not even sure you know what you feel. I can't imagine it. It sounds terrible—what you're going though. Merlin, this is a _horrible_ pep talk.

"I'm not gonna keep you here with some long lecture either about how much we care about you, because although we do care about you—a bloody lot, I might add—I want you to figure it out yourself. You're never going to believe it if someone's telling you. You never quite learn if someone just tells you what to believe. Great, now I sound like McGonagall.

"But, regardless of that, the one thing I will ask you to believe is that we're here for you. We all are. Mum, Dad, Ginny, Ron, Charlie, the twins, _me._ We're all here and we always will be. It's all up to you, how we go about helping you get better. We'll be there for you for everything. Whatever you want. Whatever you wanna do, just tell me. We can figure it out. We'll make it work."

Percy blinked slowly, head resting in his hands. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully, though he could've simply been politely ignoring his older brother's words. Just as Bill was about to give up, stand up, and leave Percy to his thoughts, the 15-year-old pulled his hands from his chin and spoke in a quiet, gravelly voice. It sounded like he regretted his words before he even spoke them.

"Bill… What do you do when you don't wanna live anymore?"

 **a/n** **I hope this chapter is enjoyable to you.**

 **sorry it's a bit depressing lately, it'll be like that for a while, but it'll have it's upbeat moments.**


	10. Chapter 10

**this chapter is a tad short. I hope you don't mind, I know the wait was outrageous.**

 **disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

 **unedited**

 **the journal**

 **chapter 10**

He really didn't know what possessed himself to say it. Something about speaking the words that had been dancing upon his tongue (far longer than he'd care to admit) was extremely bittersweet. Percy couldn't tame the surge of guilt that overtook his senses as he watched Bill's features contort in shock and horror.

He waited as Bill seemed to gather his thoughts.

"You talk to me… And you let me help you."

Percy nodded, eyes focusing and un-focusing as he ran his hands through his hair.

"My friend is dead, Bill. The rest of us made a pact to change our ways and live our lives more healthily, but the more I think about it, the more I've thought about how much I wish it was me who died. And it just really fucking sucks, because before he died, I was getting better—at least I think I was. I hadn't cut myself and I hadn't even smoked as much and then last night he just dies and this whole day I've been stuck trying to pretend that it didn't happen because you guys never knew he existed, and he's one of the reasons why I act the way I do, but he understands—understood."

Bill stayed silent as Percy continued speaking, watching as the tears welled in his brother's bright blue eyes.

"He thought he might have OCD too, you know? I knew this and I never researched it, or tried to find him help. I was too caught up in letting my illnesses destroy me, trying to blame it on you guys as though you alienated me or something. Maybe you did. I don't know. I don't know _anything_. I don't know why I hadn't researched his OCD before today. I found his problem too, I think. I should've done it sooner, because if I had, he would still be alive. If I had just helped him a little sooner he wouldn't have felt like he was alone. He would've felt wanted."

"Percy, you did all you could for your friend. You were there for him. You supported him. That's all he could ask for. I bet you helped him so much, now please, _please_ let _us_ help _you._ "

Something inside him snapped with that.

"Why? _Why_ on _Earth_ would you want to help me?"

His brother looked extremely shocked, staying silent as his features painted a portrait of pure disbelief. His mouth opened and closed in an almost comical way as he tried to formulate a proper response.

"What? Why _wouldn't_ I want to help you?"

"Because when have you _ever_ helped or cared about me? I thought this would be a turning point, you finding my journal, because maybe you'd finally realize a piece you all had in my emotional state. It's not _all_ mental illness, Bill, did that idea ever strike you? Because I find it very hard to believe that mental illness can formulate without _any_ catalyst. At least not mine.

"You want to know why I'm the way I am? There was the war, of course. Hiding away in dark rooms in the middle of nowhere during your first years of growth and development is a terrible thing. But then there's also the way you all treat me. You all treat me like an outsider. I've clearly never belonged in the clan of Weasleys, have I? You guys can never admit when you do anything wrong! It's always, oh well, it's not my fault Percy's a loner. It's not my fault that Percy can recognize when the twins joke with him. It's not my fault we never ask Percy to do anything with us. It's not my fault we never care when he locks himself in his room and practically _begs_ for attention. Nope, it's all one big chemical imbalance in his brain, and nothing we've ever done has or will played a role in that.

"Even after reading my journal—my innermost thoughts and feelings—you still refuse to believe you have a role in anything. You haven't changed any behaviors, not really. Me having a couple emotional disorders is just another reason for you all to exclude me. Because I'm finally a trailblazer in the Weasley family, but it _sucks_ because I'm not getting recognition because I'm smart, or brave, or talented. No, I'm getting recognition because I'm the resident loon. Can you even begin to process how that makes me feel, Bill?!"

Bill tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Percy… I…"

Percy watched as his brother struggled to gather his thoughts, and in the back of his mind he began to doubt his thought process when he burst out with his little speech. Great, now he'd probably be locked up or some shit. Some birthday.

"I'm so sorry," Bill began. He ran a hand through the loose strands hanging out of his ponytail. "I guess I caught so caught up in diagnoses that I didn't even process what caused those things."

Percy blinked as his brother pulled him into a hug, staring over Bill's shoulder at some patch in the distant, some pale green cluster of trees, waving in the gentle breeze and waving before his vision in the hot sunlight streaming downwards towards the ground. He was so distracted he barely processed Bill speaking again.

"I'm gonna talk to Mum and Dad, Perce. And I'm gonna talk to Charlie, and the twins, and Ron and Ginny. And we're gonna work to get better. I _promise_ you that. Just please, _please_ , continue to seek the help you need professionally, and we'll supply you the rest.

"Percy, it's a nine letter diagnosis, but there's no nine letter cure. And I see that now. I'm just so sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

He nodded, his thoughts swirling in his mind.

The burst of frenzied energy that had sparked his outbursts in the store and just now drained away very quickly, and Percy suddenly found himself feeling very tired. He believed this was what his Mum would be feeling the times she'd say she was "done." When the kids just weren't behaving and she was sapped of all energy and drive.

He shakily pushed himself out of his perch and wrapped his arms tight around his chest. "I'm kinda tired, Bill. I think I'm just gonna go upstairs and sleep or something. B-but don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything bad like smoke or cut. I'm just gonna sleep. Or at least try to. Maybe breaking past my insomnia will be the first step. After all, you need energy to fix a chemical imbalance in the brain." He gave a weak laugh to signify to his brother that the last part was a joke, and he was grateful when the 20-year-old retuned the sentiment.

"Hey, Perce. Maybe sometime this week you'd wanna invite Oliver and your other Muggle friends around. You don't have to, I just thought maybe you'd want to see them."

He nodded slowly, wiping one side of his currant curls behind his ear with a flat palm of long, pale fingers.

"Okay. I'll see if they can come sometime this week."

Percy slowly dragged his feet up the stairs as he heard the fireplace blow out dust and smoke as his family Flooed back in. When he got into his room, he changed out of his clothes and into a sweater and some long pants. He suddenly felt very cold, despite the August heat.

He crawled under his covers and pulled them up to his chin, willing his insomnia to slip away for just a few hours and allow him the comfort and release he craved, in a way without permanency.

And he stared out the window just as the canary orb of the sun broke open and begin spilling a pale, milky blend of pink and orange across the sky, painting the clouds and treetops and the inside of his room with their tenuous touch. A chiffon blend of carrot and coral pouring itself out into the pastel blue hue of the endless sky.

For once, he wasn't awake long enough to see the sun slip below the treetops, or to watch the world color itself in a shadowy steel glow.

 **A/N I know it was kinda short and I apologize. I also know the wait was absolutely ridiculous and I apologize. I've been working on this chapter periodically, but despite it being summer I'm actually quite busy. The story is gonna start winding down soon, I'm just trying to figure out how to work my way to the end.**

 **I hope it was worth the wait, and I hope you'll continue to support The Journal despite my terrible updating schedule.**

 **-c.v.**


	11. Chapter 11

**the journal**

 **chapter 11**

After Percy retreated into his bedroom, Bill found himself doing the same thing. He sidestepped the questioning from his parents, the twins and Charlie with a brief declaration that Percy was just a bit frazzled right now and that he'd explain later.

He locked himself in his bedroom and dug through his desk drawers for a scrap of parchment. He pulled a quill from his shelf and placed it in between his teeth as he grabbed for the vial of ink and unscrewed it. It was an old jar from his school days, and it refused to budge for a moment, squealing with an intense vigor when it finally began to turn. Luckily, the ink wasn't completely dried up, and he managed to compose a short letter to his brother's best friend before the ink became unusable.

 _Oliver,_

 _Do you think you'd be able to come over tomorrow around 3 pm? Not only because it was Percy's birthday today, but because I understand you two recently lost someone very important to you, and I think Percy could really use a friend right now. If he has any other friends you think would like to be present for his birthday please invite them, muggle or wizard. We can make it work._

 _Please respond with your reply._

 _Thanks._

 _Bill Weasley_

He tied the letter to his owl's leg and watched as he flew off into the setting sun. Bill then settled back in his chair and listened to the cicadas begin to hum in treetops. After all the sunlight had melted out of his room, his mother called them down for dinner and Bill listened as his younger siblings' footsteps echoed down the staircase.

He pushed himself off the chair and it creaked under the shifting weight. When he opened his door, Percy's was still shut. He knocked gently and when no reply sounded he slowly opened the door. It whined against the movement.

Percy was asleep and Bill felt terrible waking his brother, but he knew a refusal to eat dinner would fry his mother's nerves, and no one wanted to deal with that. Percy would probably appreciate it.

He shook his little brother awake, waiting for him to rub the sleep from his eyes before, shoulder-to-shoulder, they made their way into the kitchen.

The dinner was loud and wild—not unusual for the Burrow, but Bill and Percy stayed mostly silent. They both knew tomorrow they'd have to tell their parents everything that was said that afternoon, but for tonight they just let their eyes occasionally lock through the glow of candlelight, and when they did their gazes held understanding.

And Bill had never felt closer to his little brother.

 **a/n i'm so sorry for the wait.**

 **the next chapter will be out in a matter of minutes.**

 **-c.v.**


	12. Chapter 12

**disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the original characters involved. All I own is Neil and Alex.**

 **unedited.**

 **the journal**

 **chapter 12**

The next morning Percy was shocked to hear that not only Oliver, but Alex as well would be coming to the Burrow. He hadn't seen or spoken to either of them since they parted after Neil died, and even though that was just the other day it felt like a lifetime ago.

He spent his morning with his family, preparing the house to appear muggle when his friends arrived, and he also prepared himself for a long day of festivities. He loved his friends—he really did—but he could get so drained so easily sometimes, especially when his family was in the equation. He hoped one day he'd be less wary of communication with his family, but recovery was slow, and Percy could accept that.

When his friends did arrive, Oliver was carrying a large box, and Alex a small one. They were greeted warmly by his family, who immediately herded the trio into the living room, bombarding them with questions about school and—in his father's case—muggle objects. Percy hoped Alex didn't catch on to the oddities his family displayed daily. What slid in the wizarding world wouldn't always mesh with the muggle lifestyle.

At first, Alex looked uncomfortable with the long string of questions, but by dinnertime he slowly relaxed and Percy watched his friend drift into his family's routine far easier than he always had. It made him feel kind of sad. Isolated, really. But then Oliver nudged his side and urged him into the conversation, and Percy realized just because others fit in with his family too—maybe even better than he did—it didn't mean they didn't care for him.

Some kind of feeble warmth spread across his chest, wove its way through the winding canals of veins and the fluttering beats of his heart. It was tenuous, but it was enough. And Percy found himself feeling happier than he had in a while.

 ** _the journal_**

As the night passed, Percy and his friends retreated into his bedroom, listening to the muggle wireless on his bed to pass the time while the boxes on his desk cast long shadows across his floor.

Oliver finally stood, and pulled both the boxes over to the bed, excitement painting his features.

"You should open your gifts, Perce. We all chipped in—me, Alex and… and Neil." His Scottish accent was thick, both with excitement and mourning, an odd combination that Percy, strangely enough, understood.

They had him open the large box first, and he slowly, cautiously pealed the short lines of tape away from blue wrapping paper, careful not to tear the paper or its paint. When he opened the box itself, he found an old typewriter staring up at him, keys gleaming in the faint light of his bedroom, freshly dusted and beautiful. Ink replacements and paper lay in the box as well, and Percy smiled as he held them in his hand.

"We… We planned to get those a while ago," Alex began. "It was Neil's idea. He knew you want to be a writer and decided that since all the best writers had typewriters, you should too. Because you deserve it."

The second box held a new lighter and a fresh pack of cigarettes, and Percy laughed, thinking his friends knew him and his habits too well. Beneath the box though, laid a picture of the four of them. He didn't remember it being taken, but there they were, frozen in time in Alex's backyard.

Muggle photos, he realized, he were far more beautiful than any wizarding picture he'd ever seen. Wizarding photos captured a scene, muggle photos captured a moment. And even though he didn't quite remember what had happened that day, or the snap of the camera shutters, he could still look back in it, and realize what a lovely moment it must have been.

Percy felt tears well in his eyes, and he sniffled slightly. He almost felt undeserving of such genuine friendships, but tonight, he decided, it didn't matter. Because his friends were there, and that was enough.

 ** _the journal_**

Oliver and Percy snuck out of the house at 1:10, and made it to their destination exactly at 1:30. Alex had left hours before, but before he did, he asked his friends to meet him at the park near the village, where they had spent many nights before, for one last gathering. To honor the end of summer and the life of their friend.

Percy sparked up one of his new cigarettes while they walked through the grass. It glowed orange at the end, hissing and crackling with each drag as tiny sparks wafted off the end of the paper and towards the ground. The warm burn was welcome in the cool summer air, and Percy savored his smoke as long as he could, until the cigarette was but a roach spitting heat at his fingertips.

The trio sat silently in the cold crass for a long time, feeling it crunch beneath them with each shift of position.

Silently, Alex pulled a marker, four candles, paper bags and a matchbook from his backpack and explained his intent of utilizing the luminaria. They each wrote their name on it in the black marker, and Percy was careful not to let his dominant left hand drag and smear the ink.

Individually, they lit their candles one on by one, placing them in the paper bag, making sure they didn't light it on fire. When Neil's was the only one remaining, Oliver struck the match to life, and all three of them held onto it briefly, watching its flame dance in the darkness and lick burns across its own home. Percy watched his friends' faces through the waves of heat curling from the small inferno.

Very slowly, the trio lowered the match to the candle wick, holding it until the wick itself caught fire and then blew it out together. Percy gently placed the candle in its new home, and the three stood back, staring at the four bags glow with yellow lights that slowly turned orange at the end of their tendrils.

They were typically used on Christmas Eve, but tonight they had a different meaning. Tonight they honored rapport, fallen friends and life.

Tonight they honored them.

 _Alex._

 _Oliver._

 _Percy._

 _Neil._

Percy pulled the arms of his Weasley jumper tighter as a cold breeze rattled the branches of trees and their ornamental leaves. His friends each placed an arm around his shoulders, and he followed suit, feeling the warmth of their skin against his, and the warmth of their support ten times greater.

He didn't feel so cold anymore. Right now, his friends and family were enough. And he hoped one day they always would be.

 ** _the journal_**

After the candles had burned so low, and were so drowned in their own melted wax that they could barely see through the darkness, the trio parted ways.

Part of Percy wanted to leave the paper bags there, still burning, so that early morning people who went to the park would see them, and would know they existed, even if just for a moment. But even then, the candles would burn out, and someone would throw the bags away to avoid litter. So instead, Percy crouched low in front of them, blowing out the candles and pulling them from the bag. He folded the paper bags, lightly crisped by the heat of the flame, and tucked them under his arm. Maybe other people would forget and discard their existence and the night they shared, and all the other nights before that, but Percy wouldn't.

He and Oliver walked back to the Burrow slowly, and laid down beside each other in his small bed at 3:47 A.M. Oliver fell asleep immediately, deep, low snores rumbling from his lungs with each breathe.

Percy, however, pulled himself from the warm cocoon of covers and over to where his new typewriter sat on his desk. After rolling a sheet of paper in the way Alex taught him, he laid his hands on the keys.

He wrote his brief greeting to his late friend.

And then he typed.

 **a/n One more chapter and then the epilogue guys. I didn't edit, as always. I was planning to but it's 3:19 A.M. and I'm extremely tired.**

 **I hope I didn't overuse the "and it was enough" thing. I tend to utilize repetition a lot in my stories. I don't know why, it just strikes a chord in me. I hope it didn't seem like I was implying Percy is already cured of his problems with that line. I just meant that he was slowly starting to accept help and happiness, even just for that day. Not every day is a bad day, but every day brings you closer to recovery.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **I hope it was at least somewhat worth the ridiculous waits I put you all through.**

 **-c.v.**


	13. Chapter 13

**unedited**

 **the journal**

 **chapter 13**

Bill tossed the last of his items in his trunk and slammed it shut, snapping the clips with a sharp pop. The summer was over. Bill didn't think he'd ever had a more absurd summer since the war ended. He had found out so much about the little brother he barely knew. The discoveries were sad, but he knew the change would be positive.

Telling their parents about Percy's confession of not wanting to live was hard. Molly had immediately started sobbing, his dad looked heartbroken, and the twins yelled in shock as they broke in from their hiding spot. Bill had tried to calm the chaos, but everyone was inconsolable. He couldn't say he didn't understand. How do you react when someone you know—a loved one, a family member, a _brother_ —tells you that they don't want to be alive? It wasn't until Percy began apologizing that everyone stopped and noticed the slow, quiet tears dripping down his pale, freckled face.

Then it was all of them telling him all at once that he had nothing to be sorry for, it'd be okay, and they loved him. It was chaos.

The Burrow was always chaos.

Now Charlie had already returned to Romania, and Bill was preparing to leave for Egypt in a few hours while Molly herded children preparing to go to Hogwarts. It was Ron's first year and Percy's first year since everything changed. Bill hoped everything would be happy, peaceful and overall better this year. He couldn't go to the station with them—he was leaving too soon—but he still intended to say goodbye.

Bill stood up from his spot on the ground and bounded downstairs, just in time to see all the kids drop their cases by the door.

"Say goodbye to your brother fast, we have to leave," Molly snapped, clearly frustrated at the clan's inability to do anything promptly.

Bill wished Ron good luck and promised him he'd be fine. He told the twins to stay out of trouble and owl if they needed anything. When he got to Percy he hovered in the hug a moment longer than the others, making his brother promise to keep striving towards his goals, to talk to him and open up to those around him more.

As he watched his siblings and mother pile into the old Angelina Ford, he smiled to himself, missing his own school days and rushed September mornings.

Percy looked nervous—of course he almost always did—biting his nail and fiddling with the frayed end of his sleeve. To be honest, Bill was nervous too. He really would worry for his little brother. But he was confident that Percy would be able to handle it.

He knew Percy would be okay.

He really, really would.

 **a/n next is the epilogue. i'm sorry this is short but it just felt too drawn out to make it any longer.**

 **-c.v.**


	14. Epilogue

**disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved with the original story**

 **unedited**

 **the journal**

 **epilogue**

 ** _8 years later_**

In the early British night, the summer air felt chilly. A breeze rattled the branches of the garden and voices chattered scattered across the plot of land. Percy sat alone at his table, arms crossed tightly across his chest, pulling his light jacket closer. He tilted his head back against the back of the chair, looking up through the tree branches above him at the black sky. Hardly any stars were out tonight.

Percy had given up his childhood dream of working for the Ministry as soon as his journal had been found, and sometimes he wondered if his 7-year-old self would be disappointed in the course his life had taken. Even if young Percy would be, present Percy wasn't. After Hogwarts he slowly transitioned himself to the muggle world, working at a bookstore in downtown London and continuing his writing on the side. When he was 20, he wrote a short story that got published in an anthology, and just that felt like his world was coming together. And now he was publishing his own book with a muggle company, just like he'd always dreamed. He was 23 now, and it almost seemed too young for his life goals to be working out.

His book release party was supposed to be a time for him to converse and celebrate, but it made him just as happy to sit and watch the festivities. Oliver had been clinging to his side, bouncing around like an excited puppy, and he was honestly so grateful for his best friend. His dad was bombarding any muggle he could reach with questions and the rest of his family was conversing and happy. Oliver had disappeared somewhere, and Alex hadn't been able to make it—he'd been living in America since going to college and the cost of a flight was just too high, but that was okay. He was happy.

The war was hard on his entire family, including him. Fred had died and Percy almost found himself slipping into old habits after 6 years of breaking them, but then he channeled all that energy into writing and now here was—basking in the glory of being a published author like he'd always dreamed. His book was about a troubled, introverted kid, who met a group of great people that exposed him to life and all the things that make it beautiful and interesting—things like drugs, music, friendship and art. It was a story of recovery and reflection. It was a story of life.

To outsiders reading the novel, it'd simply be a creative take on humanity and life, but those close to him knew the personal chord it struck with him. The story wasn't exactly his own, but the struggles and the triumphs faced by his main character were ones he very personally related to, and writing it had been cathartic. He hoped sharing it would be cathartic to others.

The chair beside him shifted as someone sat in it. Assuming it was Oliver, he smiled to himself.

"It's about time you reemerged, Oliver. Where'd you run off to?" He tilted his chin back downwards, and was surprised to find Bill there instead.

"Sorry, not Oliver."

"Well, that's fine."

"So, a published author, huh?"

"Apparently so."

"Your book was really good. I liked it a lot."

"Thanks."

"Percy, I'm proud of you. Really. I'm so proud of you."

Percy smiled at his brother, and the mutual understanding between his 15-year-old self and his brother's 20-year-old self sparked strong still. A comfortable silence settled, and after a few minutes, Percy excused himself to sneak out back and catch a brief smoke. The habit was bad for him—he knew that—and although he had drastically cut back on his smoking tendencies, he had never quite been able to quit completely. Maybe that be the next endeavor of his life.

About halfway through his cigarette, he was joined by a woman about his age he'd never seen before, dressed in a yellow sundress. He glanced over at the woman leaning against the wall. She appeared to be of Indian descent, and she stood at about 5'8 with a deep complexion and thick, dark hair.

"Want a smoke?" He asked.

"I don't smoke. I just wanted to get away from the crowd for a moment."

Percy nodded in understanding, and flicked his cigarette, watching glowing ashes drift towards the pavement and spark out.

"If I'm being completely honest," she said suddenly. "I haven't read a word of your book yet. But my uncle raved about it to me."

"That's quite all right, I'm really not offended. Who's your uncle?"

"Just another author with the company. He brought me with him so that I could get a copy of the book straight from the author himself."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it. I'm Percy Weasley, by the way. Pleasant to meet you." He stuck his free hand out and she shook it with a smile and a mock curtsey.

"I'm Audrey Kehal. The pleasure is mine."

He took a final drag from his smoke, feeling the flame lick away at the short roach that remained. When the heat nipped at his finger, he dropped it on the pavement, digging his heel into the short stick, grinding still-glowing ashes beneath his step.

"You really shouldn't smoke you know. It'd be a shame to lose a creative visionary to cancer. How'd you get into that habit, anyway?"

"It's a long story."

Audrey opened her mouth to reply, but then George's voice was echoing down the street.

"Percival, your fancy publisher is looking for you. Better hurry on into the garden again." George scampered off after that, and Percy laughed at his little brother's antics, glad he was acting like himself again—like he did before Fred died.

He never thought he'd owe his success to the twins, but he did, in the end. If they hadn't read his journal and actually expressed genuine concern for him, he'd probably be stuck in some dead-end job at the Ministry, still separated from the family he craved for so badly. It was one of the reasons Fred's death had hit him so hard—he owed so much to his brother, and it didn't feel like he'd ever thanked him enough.

"Well, you don't want to keep your publisher waiting," Audrey said, breaking the silence between them.

Percy almost felt disappointed to be going back into his fantasy world. He didn't really know why, but being with Audrey had felt refreshing, and he'd only just met her.

"Yeah. Duty calls, I guess," he replied, tilting his head towards the ground and shuffling off with his hands in his pockets.

"Hang on," she called after him, pulling his book out of her purse and holding it out to him. "I have to get a signature, for proof I knew you before you took over the world."

Percy smiled, and took the book and pen in his hand. As he finished off his signature—he'd signed so many books tonight, it felt like second nature—she continued.

"Why don't you write your number down for me too? If it's such a long story, maybe you can tell it to me over coffee on Sunday morning."

"I'd like that."

As he and Audrey headed back towards the garden, he smiled, and realized he really, really would enjoy that.

Oliver ambushed him as soon as he was done speaking with his publisher, gushing about how proud he was again, and boasting to the whole crowd that this talented twat was _his_ best friend. From under the weight of his best friend's arm, he smiled at Audrey across the garden.

Maybe quitting smoking wasn't the only part of his next journey he'd embark on. Perhaps there was something more.

And Percy had never been gladder to own a muggle phone.

 **a/n i tried to upload last night but ffn was messing up and just gave me an error every time i tried to upload a document**

 **thank you to everyone who followed me throughout the journey of adopting this story. i'm sorry updates were always so sporadic and sometimes short. i hope my version of** ** _the journal_** **lived up to your expectations. i hope i went about my brief glimpse into recovery properly. overall, i hope the story was everything you all would've hoped. thank you to reviewers, favoriters, followers, and just readers. i really appreciate all of you.**

 **happy new year.**

 **-c.v.**


	15. Review Responses

**Review Responses**

 _I don't remember what I have and haven't responded to so I'll just do all of them. If you left more than one, I responded to them all in one block._

 _Thank you all for your time and dedication to reading and reviewing on this story! It means the absolute world to me, you have no idea._

 _I hope to see you all the next time I delve into Percy's character, but until then, thank you so much! I hope you have lovely days, months and years._

 _Thank you so much, my lovelies. All the love for you!_

 _-c.v._

 **:** I tried to really flesh out his character, because in the stories we just get Harry's views, biased by the twins and Ron, and I think there's more to everyone that meets the eye—good and bad. I'm very happy that at least some of that shined through. I'm glad the ending made you happy! I didn't want him to give up on his dreams or life because I really wanted to stress with this story that there is hope that things will get better! I plan to write more, eventually, and I look forward to seeing you in the times to come.

 **AlexandriaCFWJF:** Thank you! Making people happy is all I strive for.

 **Phoenixx Rising:** First of all, I need to _thoroughly_ thank you, because you were one of my first reviewers, and your first one was assuring me that I'd do well, and it means a lot. And I do agree that the third party writing in Ch. 4 was odd, just a little experiment! I also don't condone the drugs, drinking or smoking. While I think weed (and only weed, not smoking or alcohol) has benefits, Percy was certainly not utilizing it responsibly, and he and his friends were certainly not in the right head-space for it. I made Charlie a little _too_ lax, I think, but I remember him being a bit easy-going from the stories, and out of Bill and him, he seemed the most likely to have smoked in the past. I'm glad I managed to honor Neil properly. I barely wrote him into this story, but I grew rather fond of him regardless. I also felt that taking out Fred's death would be too idealistic. Life is hard, but I felt it was right to show Percy thrive despite _everything_ rough that happened. It didn't feel proper to pick and choose what struggles he faced so thoroughly. I'm glad you enjoyed the story, and thank you so much for you continued support despite my awful uploading schedule!

 **FairyRave:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I think Percy and Bill are both very underrated! I'm the youngest sibling, so I'm glad that I could capture being the eldest properly. I guess general sibling concern is similar enough that it worked! Percy is my favorite Weasley as well, and I'm glad that it helped shine a light on the fact that there's no way his personality is strictly two-dimensional.

 **TVmogul145:** Thank you so much!

 **RealLifePercy:** I do understand that Percy's usage of those substances doesn't make much sense, and I'm glad you view smoking as pointless since it's so harmful. Percy wasn't in the right headspace though, and that was his distraction. It wasn't good, but many people turn to alcohol or smoking for comfort, unfortunately. And I'm sure you're not a freak. I wanted to show that no one is _really_ a freak. We're all special, we just have to ignore the people who can't accept that, and be ourselves, y'know? The reason Bill didn't leave it alone is because he was worried for his brother, and even though he went against Percy's wishes, in the end it was for the best. Thank you for reviewing!

 **Grin like the Cheshire Cat:** Thank you! I tried to make the story uplifting despite the struggles Percy and his family and friends faced.

 **imdefinitelynotaserialkiller:** I'm glad it could help you cope. Like Percy in this story, I also have OCD, anxiety and (mild) depression, so writing this was very cathartic for me as well. My main goal was to help others and make them happy with this story, and it means a lot to find out I helped even just one person a little bit. Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope all gets better with your mental health.

 **Midnight1906:** Thank you for reviewing! You asking for updates actually did help inspire me to work on this, and I appreciate that.

 **Myra109:** Thank you! Your time reading and reviewing means the world to me.

 **Hermione Gallagher:** I'm glad!

 **teedub:** I know in the beginning that Bill was a little victim blaming, but I felt that that was an accurate representation of how some people deal with their loved one's mental illness. Finding out these dark things about someone you love can be shocking and stressful, and many people don't want to look into whether or not they somehow contributed to it. The important thing is that he came around, not everyone does. Thank you for your time and effort reviewing.

 **Hildygirl:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed it, it means a lot to me.

 **Zedd00:** Your review means the _world_ to me! I was so concerned that it would seem like I was glamorizing mental illness, and I'm glad I could portray it accurately. Thank you for all your time given to this story!

 **Maya Poltergeist:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've managed to break past some of your depression and cigar usage, I hope everything continues to get better endlessly!

 **Armintas world:** I tried to write them realistically, and I wrote Molly so silent because she was in shock, most likely. Percy was her golden child, and I can only imagine that finding out these things would be very frightening and silencing. I'm glad you enjoyed what I did with the story, thank you!

 **Fantasy510:** Thank you so, so much for your time reading and reviewing! I'm glad the story was good.

 **JannaKalderash:** That's why I wanted to adopt this story! There aren't very many who delve into Percy's personality and recognize that there's multiple layers to everyone. I hate the way he's treated in the novels. He was so sweet to Ginny, and even Harry initially. He deserves much better. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

 **WolfSpirit1992:** I don't blame him either. You can blame people for feelings, they're just there. No control over the initial punch, you can only control how you deal with them. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

 **SolelyReader:** I hope this lived up to your initial expectations! Thank you for your time and energy reading and reviewing.


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